


Talk to me about life and death

by yet_another_cloud



Category: The Newsroom (US TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-17
Updated: 2016-07-20
Packaged: 2018-07-24 15:42:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7513957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yet_another_cloud/pseuds/yet_another_cloud
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim relives and shares his war memories.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Deep waters noiseless are

**Author's Note:**

> I was always keened by Jim and Mac war experience they lived through together. Their relationship, so close and trustful, is one of my favourite of the show. So that temptation was irresistible for me :)
> 
> All characters belongs to Aaron Sorkin, all mistakes are only mine. Please be patient if you only can, I must confess that English is not my mother tongue, I'm just practicing writing in English, and this is my first fic ever! So I would gladly appreciate if you make any corrections, and please excuse my awkwardness!
> 
> Settled somewhen in Season 2, in between of "You should switch to vodka" conversation and Maggie's haircut. 
> 
> Chapter titles are from Robert Herrick.

It’s late Friday night, and the newsroom is rather empty, except of couple of desks. Maggie clicks on the next article in her to-do list but then realizes she couldn’t understand a word. She feels totally exhausted. She was going to stay late at work tonight, cause Lisa is dating someone and told her not to come until midnight, but now she’s so tired that barely can sit at her desk. _Okay, that’s enough than. Let’s go somewhere._ She stands up picking her things from the table.

“Going out tonight?” Jim appeared from nowhere in front of her. “Umm… I mean, are you busy? Or could we sit and talk a little? Maybe somewhere –,” he waves his hand in uncertain direction. _Oh no. Little good Jim, in person, wants to save her from going drunk and having sex with strangers._ But his voice and look are mild, and, frankly, her evening’s going to be quite awful indeed, and at last she feels she’s too tired to fight. “Okay. Why not?” Maggie shrugs.

…They sit at the terrace, leaning their backs to the wall, starring at the dark blue sky, seeping beer (Jim’s got a couple of bottles from somewhere Maggie didn’t notice), saying nothing. _Jim is good in bringing calm_ , she thinks suddenly. It’s a strange thought; she got used that Jim rather brings a lot of challenge, verbal skirmish, sarcasms and hi-speed witty responses. Then she recalls once he spoke her through her panic attack – right there, actually. _Maybe it’s a magic of place_ , she grins to herself. 

Maggie makes another sip, basking this little serene moment of friendly silence. She doesn’t realize how she really missed it until now. She thought she’s already got used to always be on her own. Maybe she needs just a good talk.

 

“Jim?” 

“Umm?” 

“Did you ever see… like people die? In front of you?” she sounds quietly, brokenly. 

“Yeah,” he nods. – “Several times, actually” 

“What was the first?”

He takes a breath. “It was in Vasiristan, soon after we’ve arrived – “ 

“Was it – when you’ve been shot? Mac told me you’ve been shot there.” 

“Yeah,” he nods again. “Quite a stupid story, you know.” 

“Could you… Could you tell me?”

He pauses for a while. There’s not a sign of pushing him in her voice, and that was exactly what sways Jim to proceed. As well as the reason that if Maggie started with this theme by herself, then it means she _definitely_ needs it. Needs him to tell. 

 

“We ran a series of reports on our new block-posts. You know, we’re quite understaffed there. All field teams were busy, and the timing was very tight. And Mac had a free day and wanted to play a reporter, so she got me – the only one who was available, - and we went alone, Mac for the front, me for all other. And we got under the fire right at the place,” Jim swallows, starring in nowhere just in front of him, his fingers unconsciously started to unstuck a label from the bottle. _It occurs harder than he thought_. 

 

…They stepped aside – just several meters to the left from block-post – to get a better view. He got prepared and they just started recording, when he noticed a jeep, rapidly moving straight to them in a cloud of dust. Jim mentioned it was strange that it didn’t slow down in front of block-post. Then all had unfolded momentarily. A soldier on Jim’s left – the one Jim just caught in the lens a moment before – jumped toward them, shouting “Run, run, run!” and waving his hand toward the block-post, then fell to one knee and started to shoot. Fire started at the moment from all around. 

First thing that Jim frantically thought was that Mac hadn’t got a helmet on her head (She denied wearing a helmet in front of camera; she always said it makes her look like a hamster.) This thought came together with another one: _Mac will kill me for the camera_. Next moment he started to budge. With one long move he leaned aside dropping the camera from his shoulder to the ground as gently as he ever can – and then moved toward Mac, placed his arms tightly around her neck and shoulders, took a few steps to the right together with her – and then pushed Mac to the ground, her head toward block-post wall, and fell down on top of her, trying to protect her with his own body. He remembers how he mindlessly covered Mac’s head with his hands, as if it really could help to save her from bullets. 

 

“We lied very close to the block-post wall, so our heads were basically safe from fire, while our legs were not. And probably my ass was the highest point of the terrain, that’s the reason why I was shot in the ass,” Jim grins, trying vainly to cope with sudden embarrassment. 

Maggie looks at Jim getting blushed up to his ears and could hardly believe her eyes. He’s just telling her, literally, how they risked their life doing the news – and still he gets confused with his so non-heroic body part wounding. _Lisa was right_ , she thinks, _sometimes Jim acts so good guy that it’s basically irresistible_. 

This thought stings her with sudden pain. Lisa… where’s their friendship now? Lisa’s gone, and Don’s gone, and Jim went to New Hampshire and met Hallie, and Maggie herself went to Uganda and met Daniel, and Daniel is dead now. Everything on earth went wrong since she yelled on that bloody tourist bus – a damned stupid thing that she would never forgive herself. 

At the moment Maggie feels she is less than inch from being overwhelmed. _No_ , she says to herself. _These thoughts are not for now, or otherwise she’ll burst into tears, and that’s the last thing she can afford in front of Jim’s eyes_. So she tilts her head up trying to collect herself, and struggles to concentrate exactly on what Jim is speaking about.

 

“Everything ended in minutes. They shot at the jeep intensively, and one bullet pierced into petrol tank. It exploded in a second.”

A few moments after Jim made sure that Mac was safe and unharmed, he looked around in search of camera and noticed that the soldier who shouted them to run was lying still in a prone position. One of his arms was thrown close to the camera, and Jim remembers that for a second it seemed to him like the soldier wanted to protect it. Then two of his fellows run there and flipped him on his back. When Jim saw it, he darted to them, but instantly felt to knees from a sharp pain. 

“Jim? Jim! Are you hurt? Hey? Oh, damn it, Jim! - Easy, easy, just sit down here,“ Mac pulled him about, and he did what she said, although he barely heard her as far as sensed anything around. He couldn’t stop watching at what-had-to-be soldier’s face, and only felt a huge wave of grief and rage and devastating despair flooded upon him inside.

 

“Two bullets hit him right in the face. All around was covered in his blood, our camera too. It got inside and spoiled a storage card. Mac and Ted tried everything, but there’s nothing to do. All was lost on it. So we didn’t end up with a report that time. Not a fucking report.” 

Jim tries his best to breathe steadily, still his voice sounds trembling and hollow, and Maggie almost physically senses how he struggles through his inner darkness stirred up by his memories. She waves her hand as if she wanted to touch Jim’s shoulder, but then reins herself and ends up tucking a curl under her ear. 

They sit in silence for a while. 

“How did you get over it?” Despite Maggie’s will, her voice rings, and Jim glances at her face briefly. It sounds almost like a plea. _How could you, and Mac, and Gary, all you damned tough guys, manage to recover yourselves after those horrible things, and move on, as if nothing was happened, and why, for hell, can’t I?_

Jim takes a deep breath. Actually, he doesn’t know the answer.

“Umm… well, quite terribly at the beginning. I couldn’t sleep for a few nights. Well, firstly – umm... they the medics were not so happy to prescript much pills.“ Actually, that’s inaccurate, Jim knows. He doesn’t mention he was the one who denied taking their strong painkillers – partly afraid of getting addictive, partly due to a stupid idea that dealing with physical pain would distract him from that throbbing emptiness growing inside. 

“Then the insomnia got stuck.” _Or, more honestly, you also had nightmares, as you were frightened enough, and now you just chicken out to admit it aloud, you bastard!_ – Jim’s inner voice knows no pity and no mercy. 

”After all, Mac gave me a half of her pills – some antidepressants, I guess. I didn’t mention the name”.

“You took Mac’s pills? Really?”

“You know, at that time I was ready to eat my shoes for two nights of sleep. We had a lot of work, Mac pushed me on, and at last, it helped somehow. I quitted them soon. After, I don’t remember, three weeks or so.” _Or rather five or six weeks, and you know it bloody well!_ \- 

“They said, it’s normal to feel bad after you went through really bad things. And after all, things get better. Someday.” He really wants to help her. Maggie lived through quite horrible experience, and she needs someone to help her getting over it. 

Jim tries hard to not get involved by his own daemons, to not tell her more than she needs. 

So he doesn’t tell her all. 

 

He doesn’t tell her that later, after his sleep normalized, and the wound got healed - as well as his untrained pride stung with offhanded attention paid to it by everyone around (Jesus, even Mac rushed to inspect his wound on the way to medics, and he barely stopped her, quarreling through gritted teeth) – after all that settled down somehow, he realized the most terrible part of his pain didn’t go away. 

That sickening feeling of absolute powerless in front of disaster – the one appeared first when he saw dead soldier’s face – it didn’t leave him. It just shrank somewhere in the corner of his heart, ready to rise at any chance. In fact, it hasn’t gone at all since then. 

He struggled hard. He worked out his own ways to not being powerless. That’s why he learned first aid techniques (practicing on himself, trying his best to not let Mac and others know), that’s why he studied army field manual for combat stress control. It’s always feels better to him acting instead of watching. At least, it occurred helpful several times. 

At least, it helped him two years later, in Islamabad. 

 

“Did you keep your bullet?” Maggie asks almost lightly after a little pause. 

“No. I mean, yes, for the first. Everyone around told me I have to keep such a trophy, ” Jim chuckles. – “But then I – Look, it was like a – kind of – a splinter. Turns you back again and again. I considered that maybe I should cut it all out and leave there. So I just threw it out of the window one day.”

“And? Did it work?”

“Hmm… I don’t know. I guess - yes, partially. Not in one day. You know, Mac helped the most. She pushed and pushed and forced us to work hard, and she – You know, she could be so… inspiring.” Jim chooses words carefully. – “She‘s able to encourage everyone… to have no fears of – of anything.”

“Yeah.” 

Sitting there in silence, suddenly Maggie realizes that more than anything else, she’d like to rest her head upon Jim’s shoulder, close her eyes and just listen to his calm voice telling her it’d all be okay. 

“You too, “ Maggie glances at Jim, her eyes sparkling in the dark. – “You’re good in dispelling fears.” Then she stands up quickly. – “I need to go. And – thank you for the beer.”

 

Jim closes his eyes and brushes his hand through his face – mostly to wipe away that dense longing feeling on his lips and tongue. Does he admit it or not, he still misses her, longs for her – manly, desperately. 

_Stop it, Harper. Now. It’s done and over, you took another chance, and you don’t spoil it now. Maggie is, at best, a friend in need, and that’s all._ He sighs. Yeah, that’s right.

Still he feels touched, and tired, and quite sad, and – yes, this deep warm feeling behind all others – was it – a relief? That’s strange. He usually hates to feel uncovered, to feel vulnerable while opening his secrets to anyone. From an early age, his rather old-fashion chivalry, sensitivity and a kind of wholehearted straightness always gained him all banter and irony, which hurt him more than he can ever admit. So he worked out his way; he always expresses quite openly, if not harshly, on all professional themes - and tries his best to escape from personal talks. 

But with Maggie, it worked in a different way. It was not easy, yeah – Jim still feels as if he had just finished a marathon – but despite his shyness, and sudden wordlessness, and throat spasms, Jim still feels it very right to open his heart to Maggie, to be so off-guard, to be even vulnerable to her. And somehow it creates a kind of intimacy he’d never experienced before. He’d never been so open to anyone. 

Except of – _except of Mac, of course_. Jim shivers. This part of his past still sometimes hurts a bit. 

But there is a difference. With Mac, Jim couldn’t hide anything, no matter how hard he tried. Mac read him as a comics book and never bothered herself to hide it, so at last he gave up to resist. Now with Maggie Jim goes off-guard at his will, and that’s what strangely rings so true to him. 

Jim finds himself wondering how good it might be to have a chance to tell her anything. And a poor desperate romantic inside of him instantly says that he might be given that chance. Someday.


	2. Bid me to live, and I will live

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, first, I must admit, I DO like Maggie's crazy haircut. It makes her so much self-centered, confident, tough - and at last it suits her well, so I just don't understand why they all are so mad about it. 
> 
> And then, it's a bit Jim-oriented thing, I know. But there never will be too much of Jim, right? Especially of young, wholehearted, tanned Jim embedded with Mac, yeah. We definitely need them more!

Lenny. His name was Lenny O’Bryan. 

They’re embedded with Marines in Iraq. They lived with Marines, slept in tents in Marine’s camp, shared food and shelter and all the difficulties and dangers with Marines, and Lenny was one of them. Although he was the one of them with whom Jim and Mac and Ted felt easily and carelessly from the very beginning and the only one with whom Jim became friends within ten minutes they first knew each other. That amiable lanky guy from Texas, he seemed to radiate his calming cordiality and cheerful kindness all around. He even owned a guitar, no surprise Jim spent most of nights hanging around Lenny’s company.

Mac kept an eye on them, both with pleasure and little worry, convincing herself the latter is nothing but elderly grumpy aunt’s jealousy speaking in her. That’s all good for the boy; he is adapting to the circumstances, dispelling the stress and finding new senses in the situation. 

Things went that way in weeks, until one day they returned to the camp and found no Lenny, only his fellows looked strangely, and learned out Lenny’s jeep was blown up with the mine, his sergeant is dead and Lenny has lost both legs to mid-thigh. Mac glanced at Jim at that moment and her heart sank; Jim’s face looked like frozen.

Next morning Jim asked a day-off. He managed to get permission from Lenny’s commander and went to the hospital he supposed to be in. When Jim returned that evening, Mac praised herself for sending out other guys from their tent and pulled the treasured bourbon bottle off her backpack.

When she poured their tea cups up to a half, Jim shook his head saying he‘s not going to drink, but who could resist to Mac when she’s got stubborn? 

After second portion they started to talk. Or rather Jim was the one who talked, and Mac mostly listened sympathetically to his hasty phrases interchanged with painful pauses. She knew that’s absolutely needed for him to find a way of speaking out his grief and anger and despair and feeling of injustice and all that overwhelmed his bursting heart. 

“I feel lost, Mac. It seems like I don’t know what the sense of all that is … or like I never did, in fact. What should we live all that for?”

Mac shuddered. She wished she didn’t see that before, but she did. She saw that several times; how those young boys, most honest and sensitive and wholehearted ones, got lost their ideals and moral supports in face of war. She knew very well what would come next. She saw that too. Most of them then started to challenge for death to meet, consciously or not. It might have sense if not being so dangerous, and Mac was all but ready to lose Jim that way. Anybody but Jim. She definitely couldn’t let it go. 

Jim was her golden boy, the best of youngsters she ever rose up, professionally and personally. And she was the one who got him there, the one he followed to. He was absolutely loyal to her, and there was no difficulty for Mac to know exactly why. But she was a mature, experienced woman, and there was also no difficulty for her to show a clear line between possible and impossible among them, not saying a word. Jim was a smart guy; he got it and admitted it without saying a word too. _So it would be a little bit risky what she was going to do now, but they could deal with it later_ – this thought flashed in Mac’s mind, while she stepped forward to Jim and kissed him.

…Even then Jim knew that’s only a fleeting moment, which had nothing to do with a possibility, or a hope, of something more between them. Still he couldn’t help but answer the kiss – with all eagerness and reckless foolhardy passion of youth that even Mac didn’t expect from him. 

Ages had come and gone before they broke up and stood still, starring at each other. Then Mac spoke to him so very softly he never heard from her before.

“That’s what we live for, Jim. That’s how people survive here. Cause they have love and beauty in their lives, or hope to find them.” She caressed her hand down his cheek and laid it on his shoulder. 

“One day you’ll find your own destiny. And she’d look that way as she has been created just for you. And you – you would be brave, and tough, and awesome – way far she could resist to.”

“It’s hard to believe,” Jim dropped his eyes from hers, his voice trembling and hoarse. 

“But you should, because it’s true! Just trust me; I’m older and smarter than you!’’. 

Jim only chuckled sadly.

“Oh, come on, Jimmy boy, come here now,” Mac hugged him close, nestling his face onto her shoulder, stroking unruly tangled mess of hair on his head, and letting their tears to finally come and wash away all those unbearable things that happened to them that far.

…Mac never gave a sign of that night ever happened, and nor did Jim. That made him even more devoted to her. Mac always knows the right words and the right actions (although someone could say they are odd or insane, but Jim doesn’t care), but even more Mac knows how to keep secrets. ( _Except if it comes to corporate mail, of course._ ) 

And it helped him much, Jim has to confess. Something changed slightly inside of him since that night, though he didn’t realize it long until later. 

 

Jim tried in vain to fall asleep. His talk to Maggie rouses a plenty of memories he usually tends not to revert to, and now they parade through his mind one after another. 

 

He remembers how he sank in a muddy viscous horror – and then popped up of it, Mac’s shaking his shoulder. 

“Jim. Jim. Hush, hush, boy. It’s just a dream.”

“Shit! I’m sorry”, he sat up in his bed.

“It’s all right, ” she settled down near him and gave him a long astute look. 

“You don’t play that stupid hero anymore, Jim.”

“And you do wear a helmet, Mac”, he could be very defiant when he wants to. 

“Okay, you hits it!”, she smiled. – “Look,” she gave him a tiny bottle. – “Twice a day, for three weeks at least, and you’ll be sleeping like a kitten. Trust me, there’s nothing wrong in it. I need you to be able to work. You are too good to play Sleeping Beauty all the way.” 

“Thanks, Mac – “

“And don’t omit it, that’s my order”.

 

He remembers once he awakened in the middle of the night, hang down his head from their two-level camp bed to look at Mac’s face at the lower level (just a familiar sight he used to calm with when he’s sure she wouldn’t notice) – and found out she’s not asleep, but lied in the dark with opened eyes, listening to her iPod. He slipped down and sat at her bedside.

“What are listening to?”

She withdrew an earpiece. “It’s Wagner.”

“Wagner? Are you kidding me?”

“Now it’s you kidding me, you savage oaf! “ She stretched earpieces to him. – “Try and you get it.”

… Unknown waters rose and faded, unknown forces fought and crumbled to dust. Unknown lands are being explored and lost forever. And after something like fifteen minutes Jim found himself returned from another world. 

“I think I understand,” – he brought earpieces back to her. “It seems it could take you away of anything, right?”

“Yeah,” – she nodded. – “Not for long, though, but still precious.”

 

Jim gets out of the bed and paces to the kitchen, turning his thoughts back to reality. He doesn’t know whether he managed to help Maggie or made it even worse to her. _If Mac were in his place_ , he thinks in dismay, _she’d made a better judgment and surely a better choice of words_. Suddenly he gets the main difference between him and Maggie he overlooked before. The worst thing he had to deal with was feeling powerless against the horrors of war; while Maggie’s worst one should obviously be _guilt._

_Shit!_ He hits the table with the hist. He could hardly believe he fucked up that bad! He’d been given a chance to really help Maggie when she needs it so much, and he missed it. He was so busy trying to not being involved himself, but he really _was_ , so he missed to say Maggie the only thing needed to be said first and last and ever: _don’t blame yourself for that child’s death. Those who shot him, they are to blame, not you._

Jim paces the kitchen from wall to wall. _He needs to fix it out in some way, but he doesn’t know yet how._ He automatically grabs a bottle of beer and settles at the edge of the table starring at the window. _He’ll definitely try. He learned a lot these years, and will not let it go._

...Jim’s heart aches. To tell the truth, he’s so upset not only with his rather painful flashbacks, but also, if not most, with being in touch with Maggie again, which, as turned out, still hits his sore spot. And he also feels sorry all around: sorry for Hallie, sorry for Maggie, even in some odd way sorry for himself, and maybe he punishes himself that way, Jim doesn’t really know and has no intend to explore, but he only knows he can’t help himself with that awful flashback retrospective. 

 

…That was worst of all, there in Islamabad. 

They were so used to work in the riot streets, and still made a classic rookie mistake. They stepped little too far to the crowd, and a moment later found themselves surrounded with hostile faces and threatening gestures. Another moment fleeted, and someone hit Ted in the face, trying to seize the camera from his hands, and Mac stepped in to impede, and next beat he saw Mac slumping down to the ground, her palms pressed to her side getting red.

They were incredibly lucky that time; there was intense shooting sound aside, and the crowd swayed for a moment, opening them a way out. So they run, Ted clutching the camera and wiping blood away from his face, and Jim carrying Mac in his arms. 

Thanks God, he had no time to panic. This time, there’re a lot of things he _could_ do, and _should_ do, so he acted, and did it properly well. When they got a relatively quiet sidewalk, he laid Mac down and tried to give her the first aid. _Wound at the left side, much of blood - maybe it’s a lung - or ruptured spleen_ \- he stopped himself from thinking further. He used his upper shirt as a bandage, apologizing all the way while Mac bit the groans up, and somehow dealt with the bleeding. He contacted to Marine medics, and even managed to hire a van next street for a fabulous sum. Sitting there with her, saying her soothing nothings, wiping sweat and tears from her face and feeling it like a punch in a gut every time Mac moaned on the bumpy ride – the worst thirty minutes Jim ever had – he still held himself from panic. It wasn’t until Mac’s hand in his fingers went limp as she passed out, when the wave of terror and despair overcame him at last, and Jim cried like a boy, quietly begging Mac just not to die. 

…He was told she’s operated, and going stable, and wouldn’t available to see until morning, so he sat there waiting until morning.

“Hey! How are you doing?”

“Fine. As fine as it could be, given a situation”, she smiled. 

Mac looked paper-white and weak, her voice was hoarse, but the thing that worried Jim most was her expression. She looked – broken? – lost? – scared? – Jim couldn’t tell, but he knew he should return to her as soon as he could.

He got back in the evening after they settled down with their day news package. Jim had a reason for pride; he managed to get two bars of genuine Swiss chocolate and a bottle of rum, although he didn’t know whether Mac is allowed to eat anything like this, let along to drink alcohol. But Mac’s face brightened at the sight of these treasures, as he served them two large cups of tea.

“Jim, you’re gorgeous! When we get fired, I’ll hire you as a party maker.”

“Always at your service, ma’am!” Jim disappeared for a moment and got back with a guitar he borrowed from the guys next door. 

“You’re pretty essential in our humble abode”, she smiled at him. 

He was lilting something from the early Beatles, when he glanced at Mac’s face eventually and found she is nothing but crying. 

“Mac, hey… I’m… I’m sorry - ”

“It’s fine! “ She sobbed, – “ I’m fine, really. Never mind. Come on, Jimmy boy, just play it again for me”, she asked weakly, and so he did. 

He stayed there for the whole night, sitting on the floor at her bedside, playing this sort of lullabies for her, or just holding her hand rested at his shoulder. _That’s how people survive_ , he knew. When she finally fell asleep, he kissed her palm gently; it was salted from her tears.

 

Maggie goes down the street to her place, paying no attention to the rain. What she needs now is to get home, and make a cocoon of her blanket and pillow, and hide in it, and – she doesn’t actually know. Things do not get better with her. In fact, it seems like they only get worst and worst and there’ll be no bottom of this damned pit.

They just have a fight with Josh-the barman. Damn it all! What’s the reason in getting things more complicated as people stay with each other for a little longer than a single night? Why can’t they all fucking understand that all that she wants is a bit of light noncommittal relations, and nothing more? She’s so tired, tired, **TIRED** of it all. 

She opens the door and freezes. Lisa is home, watching _Sex and the City_ in the living room. _Hell._ Yeah, Lisa still likes the show, while Maggie couldn’t bear it at all, though they never give a talk to it, cause it’s the obvious sore point. But today this is too much. It feels like a kick, and Maggie finds she’s starting to cry. 

Noiselessly she leaves her bag at the floor and slips to the bathroom, locking the door. She crumples a towel, buries her face in it and bursts into tears. She weeps and cries, and cries, and cries, damning all around, banging her knee with her fist, and it’s been a long time. She tilts her head up. It feels like she couldn’t bear being that way anymore. Who can help her? What, for hell, can help her?

Maggie realizes she’s going to start panic right now. _No, it’ll be too much for the day! She needs to calm down herself._ Before she thinks, she imagines Jim sitting around here and speaking to her with his soothing and calming voice that she’s safe, and all the people like her, and this state of mind would pass in a minute.

Ooh, it helps. Maggie takes few deep breathes, talking with that imagined Jim, and then sits still for a long, long blessing quiet time, not a single thought in her mind. 

_“I considered that maybe I should cut it all out and leave there”_ , she recalls suddenly. Maggie stands up and looks at the mirror. She feels it makes sense. 

She finds scissors and a hair dye at the locker. 

…She looks at her reflection in the mirror and finds she rather likes it, surprisingly. No wonder she feels better while _doing_ this thing, and now… she doesn’t know. _Not in one day_ , she reminds to herself. At least, she has done something. And maybe, there _is_ a bottom of this damned pit, and she just pushed off it.


End file.
